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THE ECHO AND THE POET 
WITH OTHER POEMS 



THE ECHO AND THE POET 

WITH OTHER POEMS BY 
WILLIAM GUSHING 
' BAMBURGH 



NEWS YORK 

PriDatelp PrtnteU for t^e Sltttl)or 

1893 



r^fyy' 



This edition limited to Two Hundred 
Copies, of which this is No. 



Copyright, 1893, 
By WILLIAM GUSHING BAMBURGH. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 
Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 



TO ISABEL. 

Isabel, the angels named thee — 
Isabel, I never blamed thee 
That my love was given to thee . 
Sweetest joy it was to woo thee. 



MY OFFERING. 

Come, pick to your own choosing, reader dear, — 
My pearls have long been fondled, some are worn 
And some strung round the neck of Poesy 
By other hands, and yet I pray you find 
Some pearl to your own liking : 't is to thee 
I give with gen'rous heart, and 't is for thee 
I fain would cheer that moment of the day 
Wherein thy heart may droop, or some sharp pain 
Of thoughtless wit may cause thee to give up 
Some hope or long-dreamed aspiration. 
And I would caution thus : vouchsafe to shun me 
Just when thou wilt, — but I am not a dog — 
Remember that, — nor slave to any law but love's 
And all the attributes of sweet and gentle love 
That bears the charm of grace and kindliness. 
Come, pick to your own choosing, but thy mind 
Must find some sympathetic chord in mine 
Ere thou shalt find a truth to suit thine end. 



CONTENTS. 



The Echo and the Poet 3 

Gui D'UiSEi 10 

Identity 16 

A Song in the Night 18 

Hollow 19 

To R. B 20 

An Incident of the Musical Season .... 22 

Ita Est 24 

The Last who Sing 25 

Song 27 

By the Sea-Grass on the Headland . 

No Meed for the Lukewarm .... 

Song 

Kith and Kin 

The Poet and the Bee 

Sonnets. 

Personal 

" Away from clerkly cares " . 

" O, let me hail thee " ..... 

To Emerson ........ 

" Wings have my thoughts " . . . . 

Our Forefathers 

The River Mystic 

Light 

A Thought in a Field 



Life's Jewels 44 



X CONTENTS. 

Harmonious Music 45 

To Wordsworth 45 

Wisdom 46 

Heredity 47 

A Pity 't is, 47 

Daemoniac Love 48 

In Memoriam 49 

Gall and Honey 50 

Epigrams and Quatrains 53 

Adieu. 

In Youth 61 



THE ECHO AND THE POET. 



THE ECHO AND THE POET. 

I. 

The Echo saith, 

" Again 
This lordliest of men 
Cometh hither; 
In him my secret song — 
My secret held so long 
'T is naught but him doth know it, 
Nor would this manly poet 
In faith so mild, 
This wondrous secret dear 
Give o'er to child — 
In him my song so clear, 
So strange unto mine ear 
These two-score years, 
Was still as heartful fears 
Could wish it kept : 
I loved him well. 
He said, ' It shall not wither ' — 
E'er since my voice has slept. 

3 



THE ECHO AND THE POET 

II. 
" Know ye my tale ? 
I have it now to tell : — 

" A life there is above 
The life of earthly love, 
The life my poet led, not one of woe, 
The knowing God — Creator. — 
To him was giv'n the vision 
Into the soul of man — 
The lover — weeper — hater ; 
Vision of life Elysian, 
Few men 'neath surface scan : 
The poet waiteth ever 
For the life none else may see ; 
My poet ne'er could sever 
His love from Italy. 

III. 
" When Nero reigned 
The earth was stained 

With blood of men — some, gods were called j 
All life was palled 
Ky tumult, slaughter ; 
Yet one fair daughter 

As brown as sunny air oft turns Eve's child, 
Italian in her blood, 
Sweet, saintlike in her mood, 
Nor weak in being mild. 



THE ECHO AND THE POET. 5 

Sought refuge here, no home 
For one who dwelt in Rome. 

" Here Nature, luscious, glorious, 
Her charms o'er all victorious, 
Deals not with frail woman 
As other human : 
'T is tender care she needs, 
Else her weak heart long bleeds, — 
Her heart so weak it clings to man of hardier 

growth. — 
To him she plights her troth, 
Changing him for God 
When her feet have trod 
This earth of lust and sloth. 

IV. 

•' This one fair daughter 
Fell sick and wan through pity, 
Left th' Eternal City 
Slow passing through the slaughter ; 
Here rested, famished, died. 

" 'T was then her soul outcried, 
Oh, here must I remain 
To haunt these dells in vain ; 
Perchance some poet lost 
In rapturous fancy tossed 
Will find my soul his own, 
As murm'ring o'er his verse 



THE ECHO AND IHE POET. 

One note he may rehearse 

And through his soul my echo may be thrown." 

V. 

" Alas ! " the Echo saith, 

So oft in softest breath, 

When strangely man did spare 

A minute's mountain joy 

To breathe diviner air 

With heartleap of the boy — 
" Alas ! " the Echo saith, 
" My voice so seld hath breath 

To yearn seems folly, 

Yet melancholy 

Its pall o'er me has thrown." 

There jagged moss and stone 
With fig are rank o'ergrown — 
There vines creep heaven-called 
And dells with moss are walled. 

VI. 

Dear Echo yearned but thrived 

(For echoes are long-lived), 

Yet yearned in hope her poet soon would seek 

New bloom upon his cheek, 

And tune his verse 

In chords so terse 

'T would meet her chime 

In fairy rhyme. 



THE ECHO AND THE POET. 

VII. 

So eeons passed — 

(A time so vast 

'T is naught but Nature's echoes last) ; 

The years were frowning 

When Carlyle, Browning, 

Wielders of impulsive hopes, 

Did burst on songless days, 

Filled Britain with deep truths and lays 

That turned her to Queen Bess's days. 

The sage sought France 

And menlike Kings, 

The poet much diviner things, 

The cores of old romance 

That round dead souls long clings ; 

The fair pure sky of Italy 

Filling his soul with ecstasy. 

He sought the isles and dales 

Where freedom never fails ; 

He sought the strangest tales, 

And learnt how Pippa Passes \ 

He waded through morasses — 

And wandered through wild woods 

Where Dante in his moods 

Long pondered o'er his Hell, — 

Long pondered, — and so well ! 

VIII. 

Thus in these fitful wand'rings 
Pond'ring on Dante's pond'rings, 



THE ECHO AND THE POET. 

And singing in his heart the songs of youth 

The poet found the Echo, and forsooth, 

He sang in sweetness 

With mystic fleetness 

A song the world can never hear ; 

He sang, and all his soul 

With Heaven at once made whole 

Poured forth upon the air, 

Then ceased \ no longer there 

Was Echo heard again, 

Tho' oft the tread of men 

Disturbed the slumb'ring den. 

IX, 

Again the poet wended, — 

My poet grown more sage 

Singing in his heart sweet songs of age, — 

To Florence where was blended 

Sweet life with wife at Rome ; 

And still with poet's passion 

Unharmed by London fashion. 

He sought the Echo once again — 

His secret, his alone of men. 

There still the spirit entered, 

And in his brain was centred, 

The fancy which gave o'er 

His strange pathetic lore 

As ne'er in poet it had ever lived before. 



THE ECHO AND THE POET. 9 

Deep song swelled from his heart 

As perfume from the rose ; 

With artless art 

He sang until clay's close ; 

Then said, " I must depart, 

And if perchance I come this way again 

I prithee, Echo, know your favorite of men." 

The Echo answered, " Thou 

Wilt die and I will die 

Here in luscious Italy, 

Nor e'er will man know how 

My secret unto thee was given, 

I waited for thee here ; 

I loved thee many a year, 

And true wert thou to my poor secret dear : 

Farewell, and yet again, farewell." 

The poet left the dell — 
At Venice lately died ; 
Nor has the Echo vied 

With song of any singer since well-born of 
Heaven. 



GUI D'UISEL: 

A BALLAD OF A JONGLEUR OF FRANCE. 



Valiant rose Lord Gui of Uisel, 
Lover of both song and glory — 
Hater of all boding terror, — 

Longing to be free, 
Sought for newer paths of valor. 
Valor such as from the brain comes 

Granting liberty. 

II. 
Gui was of Brioude the Canon ; 
Bred in lax religious manners, 

Love to him was food ; 
Canons were not then too pious — 
Seldom were they men of honor, 

Nor on sins did brood. 

III. 

To his cause came his two brothers, 
Ebles and his brother Peter, 
And their hungry, stricken cousin ; 
Willingly they sought 



GUI D'UISEL. II 

All the charms of coysome Muses 
In the making of their verses 
To be sung at court. 

IV. 

Rode they from their moated castle — 

Clad in all their rainbow colors 

On before them rode their heralds — 

Into distant climes, 
Ready each to die for maidens 
Who should recognize their valor ; 
Ready each to sing for maidens 

Roundelays and rhymes. 

V. 

In the sunny land of Provence 
Gui long importuned a lady 
To receive his humble homage 

And his humble praise ; 
In her honor sang sweet sonnets, 
Only to be soon rejected, — 
For he was a common scholar 

Singing am'rous lays. 

VI. 

Laughing at her first rejection 
Still he importuned the Lady, 
Sought her youth and peerless beauty, 
Sought her dauntlessly ; 



12 GUI D'UISEL. 

Filled his dreams with gleaming visions, 
Visions that did make him happy ; 
Then her grace slow turned to hatred, — 
Scorned him bitterly. 

VII. 

Mortified was Gui so gallant, 
Tossed about by woman's folly — 
Woman who in love is thoughtless, 

Changeful and serene : 
True love every care doth banish, 
Every agitation quelling 

As it ne'er had been. 

VIII. 

Mortified was Gui of Uisel, 
And in anger and in sadness 
Love and song he quickly silenced 

Ne'er to sing again ; 
Silenced was his lordly passion. 
Filled his bosom was with anguish, — 

Sad was he 'mongst men. 

IX. 

Silenced was his peerless singing, 
Dull those eyes that flashed while singing, 
Low and mournful now his voice was ; 
Melancholy Gui 



GUI D'UISEL. 13 

Shared the owl's love for the darkness, 
Gazed upon the starry heavens 
Heaving: oft a sisfh. 



Knights then grieved and royal ladies, - 
Valiant knights and ladies lonely 
Sought and begged for roundelays, — 

Still his song was mute. 
Marie Ventadour petitioned 
He should sing a tuneful sonnet 

While she played the lute. 

XI. 

Valiant rose fair Gui of Uisel, — 
Lover of both song and glory — 
Glory that did overwhelm him, 
Glory that did grant him genius, — 

His last lay to chant : 
' Lady Marie, this my song is, 
Which to all the world is final ; 

This for thee I grant." 

THE SONG. 

From the tree-tops sing the angels 

Of the air; 
Ruled by love their songs are joyful — 

Without care. 



14 GUI D'UISEL. 

Theirs are songs so full of meaning, 

Magic words 
Trill from throats to rune so lightsome — 

Happy birds ! 

Never song in brain reposing, — 

Song so true, — 
Magic hath not lest intending 

Hearts to woo. 

Sing I thus, and thus I murmur 

Low to thee, 
Ere I leave to be forgotten 

Presently. 

Listen now unto my wisdom : 

Song is great ! 
But without warm love it weakens, 

Sorry fate ! 

Long I gave my fond allegiance 

Without jest, 
Singing ere I in the starlight 

Went to rest. 

Birds do change their climes each season ; 

Songs must cease ; 
Ere the blight of old age palls me, 

Seek I peace. 



GUI D-UISEL. 15 

Once wild lands and bowered castles 

Were my pride ; 
Back to them I soon must turn me 

As the tide. 

Farewell song ! O farewell story ! 

I implore 
Thou wilt let me murmur softly 

One song more : 

Song that in no verse finds haven ; 

From the heart 
One more song at Death I '11 murmur, 

Then depart. 

Farewell song, and farewell glory! 

Farewell strife ! 
When the awful blighting end comes, 

Farewell life ! 



" Lady Marie, this my song is 
Which renounces all my passions \ 

Death must quench my grief ; 
Love hath been a tyrant master. 
And my song doth cease with loving — 

Love hath proved a thief ! " 



IDENTITY. 

I SOUGHT a star 
In heaven's zenith ; 
The star shone not — 
For that I sorrowed. 

A greater light 

Was there in heaven ; 

The moon shone full : 

And lesser stars 

Were dim or shone not. 

The planets — ah ! 

And greater stars, 

Shone with their light eterne. 



Why should I sorrow ? 
All lesser lights grow dim. 
The boulder grows ; 
The sands are ground 
By wash of waves 
And toss of winds, 
To sparkling dust. 
i6 



IDENTITY. ly 

The greater lights — 
The lamps of our vast world, 
The lamps called poets 
Which God doth fill 
With light of Heaven, 
Shine without flicker 
Eternally. 



A SONG IN THE NIGHT. 

Mine ear is full of love's sweet words, 

My heart is blithe and gay, 
While on the night wind slow is borne 

A song that seems to say : 

Blithe is the heart with a song in its spirit, 

Sweet is the song that hath love for its theme ; 
True is my love who still lingers to hear it. 
Calm is her sleep sweetly blent with a dream. 
Love soon may die and spread its blight 
O'er sun and moon, o'er day and night. 

Love holds the secret of darkness and daylight. 

Seeking the soul in the beauties of earth. 
Yearning forever to make thy life's way bright. 
Raising creation to immortal birth. 

Love soon may die and spread its blight 
O'er sun and moon, o'er day and night, — 
O'er night and day 
And thy life's way. 

My heart is full of woe and sorrow, 

I long to clasp my love, 
Ere comes the dawning of the morrow 

That he his love may prove. 



HOLLOW. 

Hollow the air where the spurt-winged swallow 

Flew to his nest ; 
Hollow the song of the sweet-voiced poet, 

Hunger-oppressed. 
Hollow the hope of the love-lorn maiden 

Haunted by wrongs ; 
Hollow the praise that seemeth not honest 

For my first songs. 
19 



TO R. B. 

Thou didst not find, O Master, one clear word 
Conveying fullest essence of the flood 
Of truth and love that in thy heart vi^ere stirred — 
What wouldst thou not have giv'n to write in blood ? 

Were all the hearts that in this world have throbbed 
Burnt on one funeral pyre, none would cry 
Aloud for mercy : each one th' other robbed, 
And from the other each would madly fly. 

Yet from the pyre might arise a wail 
For freedom from all evil : Then, O Master, 
Wouldst thou compress into thy poet's pale 
Confession from each heart's most cruel disaster. 

For thou hast heard the wail of erring souls 
And ev'ry cry hath found its chord in thee, 
But even as all truth our God controls 
So doth He curb the tongue's full liberty. 

'T is well, O Poet, that our mortal speech 

Doth find its mart of words so ill-provided, 

For to thine open heart all men beseech 

That thou wilt hold most rare all they 've confided. 



TO R. B. 21 

It is the poet's charm to probe the store 

Of secret truths that clog the wheels of time, 

And cut corruption from the sodden core 

By keenest tierce and carte of piercing rhyme ; 

And thou, O Master, Poet, whose soul-truth 
Did probe the sins of man and push thy speech 
To chokeful phrase, it is for thee, forsooth, 
We grant the wreath beyond small singers' reach. 



AN INCIDENT OF THE MUSICAL SEASON. 
1891-1892. 

Sullen sat the fond musician 

Peering into space, 
Quiet now his hand lay listless, 

Jaded was his face. 

All the airs of Paganini 

Fled were from his brain ; 
Now his violin lay silent 

Freed from every strain. 

Once that face infused with passion 

Saw the angels come, 
As with airs from famous Mozart, 
Verdi, and sublime Rossini 

Evil souls fell dumb. 

Fallen was he, fallen slowly, 

Wearied in the race, — 
Some foresaw the new opinions 

Drove him from his place. 

Slowly, slowly, and more slowly, 
Stiff his fingers grew, 



^ 



AN INCIDENT OF THE MUSICAL SEASON. 23 

Unaccustomed to bewitch us 
Soon his fate he knew. 



Hunger, thirst, and gaunt starvation 
Changed his long-sought goal, — 

Once his hope was for great honors 
That bestir the soul. 

Now his soul was colder growing ; 

Love of dreams was gone — 
Charity herself he courted — 

He so weak and wan. 

Hunger, thirst, and gaunt starvation 
Claimed him Christmas Day, 

Calmly took the fond musician 
Gently far away. 



Thus it is the world's gay fashion. 
Ever various and so changeful, 

Thought has for to-day, — 
Thought it has not for the shunned one, 

Past and cast away. 

Fashion loves her new companions, 

Merit lonely dies : 
Fashion wins, through all that 's worldly ; 
Fashion wins, but glorious merit 

Rests in Paradise. 



ITA EST. 

I SOUGHT a dewdrop pure one April morning, 
And yet where'er I peered each leaf was dry — 
E'en all the skies Dame Nature seemed scorning, 
When soon a shower fell from out the sky. 

'T is so I seek a tear upon the cheek 
Of some mild maid whose gentle, contrite heart 
Hath erred, and ere I know she is so weak 
From ready springs a flood of tears doth start. 
H 



THE LAST WHO SING. 

" O, CARE we who sung this or that ? 
'T is we at last who sing," — 
The robin who in meadows calls 
Takes flight on crimson wing. 

Yet he who sings hath not his song, 
While he who steals apart, 

And sings in some far solitude, 
Hath music in his heart. 

For song is but a moment's joy 
That, passing, soon is lost ; 

'T is but the blooming of a bud 
Nipped by an early frost. 

The song that lives for e'er and aye 

Must echo in thy mind. 
And tho' thou livest fourscore years 

'Twill sing in every wind. 

Nor care we who sung this or that — 
The sweetest song 's ne'er kept 

Forever in the grave's deep lore 
By them who long have slept. 

2S 



26 THE LAST WHO SING. 

But in the living song of songs 
That dies not with the voice ; — 

We care not who sung this or that, 
For we in song rejoice. 



SONG. 

Sing of high courage and hope 
And one strong mood to-day, — 

Sing of the scourge and the rope 
Yestere'en tho' ye may. 

Sing of sweet freedom of mind, 
Sing with the voice of the breeze ; 

Harmonious chords we may find 
Where'er there are songs Ulce these. 

Fill thy great voice with laughter. 
Fill thy sweet songs with hope, 

Let not the drear Hereafter 
In sweet Elysium grope. 

Cast out all taint from To-morrow, 
Live while there 's joyfulness, now ! 

Madcaps can give naught but sorrow, 
Sorrow that furrows the brow. 

In grief there 's nothing but madness ; 

Sing now of joy and of cheer, — 
Hell has a meed for mad sadness, 

Sadness so wan and so drear. 
27 



28 SONG. 

Let thy songs echo where folly 
Clings to its ruin of age, — 

Laugh to scorn old Melancholy, 
Laugh in the face of stern rage. 



BY THE SEA-GRASS ON THE HEADLAND. 

A SPRAY of sea-grass on the headland, 
A waft of wild winds that are drear, 

Yet hither my sweetheart ne'er cometh, 
Cometh to give me cheer, 

'T was here that she promised to meet me, 
'T was here that my fate would be sealed ; 

But only the dashing and foaming 
Of the sea is revealed. 

O Thou to whom souls are the secrets, 
Of truths born of hope and of hate, 

Is this dashing and foaming the answer 
Determining my fate ? 

Then Thee, O fair God, do I conjure : 
Grant this to my heart that is sore, 

That she shall be drown'd in a shipwreck, 
And cast here on this shore. 

Nay, think not that loving and longing 
Make longing and love worth their cost ; 

For the heart and the soul of the lover 
Are oft in hatred lost. 



30 BY THE SEA-GRASS ON THE HEADLAND. 

And Thou, to whom souls are the secrets 
Of man's little faith and great doubt, 

Dost know why mad love is revengeful, 
And, putting faith to rout, 

It lurks in wan shades slowly waning 
Ere shrouding themselves in the night ; 

Thou knowest that man when revengeful 
Lives in careless delight. 

Yet, she was so fair and so rosy, 

I would not, — nay, could not, ask Death 

To toss her on crests of wild billows, 
So stifling her last breath. 

But, lay her here gently, — more gently 
Than ever maid fell at man's feet, 

For by the sea-grass on the headland 
Fate doth decree we shall meet. 



NO MEED FOR THE LUKEWARM. 

Ah ! what hath he who ne'er renews his Hfe, 
Whose eye doth never burn with shifting fire, 
Who with eternal truth evades all strife 
And each day lights his own funereal pyre ? 

'T is aspiration leads us to the skies, 
And fills our orbs with light that inward glows — 
Sweet gift from Him who never aught denies, 
Yet guards so well the light that from Him flows. 
31 



SONG. 

Love me, and my light 
Shines as stars in night ; 
Hate me, and my hate 
Will with thine abate. 

Love me, and sweet peace 
Bids my love increase ; 
Fitful, evil hate 
Needs a bitter fate. 

Joy and happy love 
Merit grace above ; 
Anger, base and hot. 
Boils the Devil's pot. 

Kiss me, — peace be thine, 
Love is thine and mine ; 
Man and bird and beast 
Join in God's love feast. 
32 



KITH AND KIN. 

The bee buzzed out of the lily, 
And sang about my head ; 

Then flew down into the valley, 
While sad, wild tears I shed. 

For I dreamed of winning Elsie, 
Who buzzed about my heart ; 

When just as I knew I loved her 
She murmured, " We must part." 

The bee was akin to Elsie, 

Who fled the mountain-side, — 

For she loved Phil-o'-the-valley, 
And soon became his bride. 

I then saw they were like Cupid, 
Who pierces with his dart, 

Then flies to my nearest neighbor 
To conquer his weak heart. 

O, ye whose love is so tender, 
Woe has no balm for love, — 

O, come ye down to the valley. 
There 's only woe above. 
3 33 



34 KITH AND KIN. 

For love that is life 's not folly, 

And folly has no care : 
True love that 's born of great sorrow 

Must nought of follies share. 

To own one's love is to forfeit 
The sweets of forbidden chase ; 

None are less sure than the lover, 
He e'er may keep his place. 



THE POET AND THE BEE. 

I LOITERED by the riverside, 

With all my cares forgot, 
And watched the changing of the tide, 

And dreamed of what was not. 

I plucked a rose, a rose full-thorned. 
When from it flew a bee, — 

A bee that loitered not, but scorned 
My poet's liberty. 

I sought a theme, but from it flew 
The sweets of its sweet blessing — 

So green the grass, the sky so blue : 
Came happiest caressing 

From songs of birds and zephyrs blent ; 

O, life so kind, supreme, 
If beauty reigns where souls are sent 

I ne'er again would dream. 

And slowly day drew to its close. 
And stiller grew the stream : 

The bee again hid in my rose, 
And I hid in my dream. 
35 



36 THE POET AND THE BEE. 

The bee then suck'd the sugar'd rose, 

And flew so far away, 
No sweets had I at quick'ning close 

Of that eventful day. 



SONNETS. 



SONNETS. 



PERSONAL. 

Ah ! what have I that in some future times 
Shall cause some heart to find pure sentiment 
With this weak verse of mine so humbly blent ? 

Will these warm thoughts — O, will these anxious 
rhymes — 

Each like a tendril as it slowly climbs — 
Be broken off by some rude, faithless hand ? 
O, what may one's prayer crave from our vast land 

Where men do feel the pulse of pantomimes? 

And yet, 't were well if o'er my grave is placed 
A plain hewn stone on which is rudely graved, 
In letters that will thwart the waste of years, 

" Here lieth one whose life was sweetly graced, 
O'er whose fond soul the flag of truce e'er waved, 
And sought companionship with men's best peers." 

"AWAY FROM CLERKLY CARES." 

Away from clerkly cares all life is sweet, 

And holy truths do find my welcome thought 
Outstretched to greet them as on wings they're 
brought, 
Or carried by some speedy elfins' feet ; 

39 



40 "O LET ME HAIL THEEr 

How great is life when all the pleasures meet 
In one kind heart with godly sunshine filled 
And every angry tumult calmly stilled — 

How charmingly the morning seems to greet 

Our innocence ! The dearth of want and wrong 
Doth spur the singing heart of man to song, 

And make of every soul a throne. O Maker ! 

We never see beyond Thy Golden Acre 

O'erveiled with rainbows, yet when life is past 
We yield our joys to Thee for dowers more vast. 



"O, LET ME HAIL THEE." 

O, LET me hail thee on some beauteous day, 
And tread with thee a path untrod by men, 
To penetrate the haunts of Jenny Wren, 

Or view with awe the oriole's bright display 

Of wings ; or pluck the Iceland mosses gray ; 
So with the balms which Nature freely yields 
In woodlands or in swaying wheaten fields 

Return we through wide meadows laid with hay. 

Wouldst thou with me interpret Nature's laws ? 
And feel the budding spring in every nerve ? 
And with old cronies know th' approach of rain ? 

Know then that birth with growth is primal cause 

From which no living thing shall ever swerve, 

Or all the truth of God would be in vain. 



" WINGS HAVE MY THOUGHTS:' 4 1 



TO EMERSON. 

O Concord sage ! my star of early days, 
Who, knowing not, my life were weak indeed ; 
Hadst thou not sown in me the noble seed 
Of nobler thought, I could not bring this praise ; 
For unto me thou cam'st when in a maze 
My youth was wand'ring, tossed from weak to strong : 
Thou interven'dst, and led me from the wrong 
And sham and lies and all their shameless ways, 
And gave me insight into Nature's charms 
Which entered into no man's life as thine. 
For thou didst seek in her the truth divine : 
In Nature's gen'rous essence were no harms ; 
Then shall I say 'mid critic's wrangling strife, 
" Rare Plato once again did come to life." 



"WINGS HAVE MY THOUGHTS." 

Wings have my thoughts, and flying here and there 
They seek th' embrace of some unbridled breeze 
Or flit about as birds 'mid forest trees, 

Ne'er mindful of wild storms nor deathly air. 

What hast thou then to give me that is rare 
And unpolluted as a thought so pure 
It through all aeons shall in pride endure? 

Why dost thou bring ideas so lowly, bare ? 



42 OUR FOREFATHERS. 

I seek not old nor faulty, barren truths 

That play their parts as men without keen wits, 

But thoughts that may inspire warm-souled youths 
Who flout all show of wrong with cries of " Quits ! " 

Wings have my thoughts — 't is far from channels old 

The miner finds new harvests of fine gold. 

OUR FOREFATHERS. 

Ah ! strong in heart were they who so forsook 
Their native land the mighty kingdom trembled, 
When on their ships the Pilgrim sires assembled, 

And with the scorn of scorn cast back one look 

Wherein the hope of all they undertook 
Was bright ; and all the sweet delights of peace 
Unseen but not unsought, without surcease 

Were drawn in plenty from their Guardian Book. 

O Holy Bible, thou hast granted grace 
To many a Pilgrim casting off the yoke 

Of unreligious laws ; and yet no trace 

Of high achievement equals that fell stroke 

Which severed souls from blunt un-Christian rites 

That lighted pyres of pain on England's heights. 

THE RIVER MYSTIC. 

Lay thy soft hands in mine as on we tread 

Beside the banks where Pilgrims oft have trod, 
Breathing a prayer to their Almighty God 

That no starved, lurking Indian raise his head 



LIGHT. 43 

Nor tauntingly molest them. Blood was shed 
On thy fair verdant shores ; and here so blithe 
Fair maids, sweet versed in foreign ways and lithe 

In mind and form, with youthful fancies bred, 

Dreading nought but that kind virtue taught them 
dread, 
Sported as were their souls ne'er filled with fear. 
Here mused the sturdy Winthrop ; there Paul Re- 
vere 

Crossed, — recrossed, as toward Lexington he sped ; — 
Now, dost thou inward flow and out in languid tide 
As merest fancies on thy bosom ride. 

LIGHT. 

All light on earth from God doth emanate. 

Shining from one great Sun with constant ray — 
Nor yet such sun as brings forth night and day 
Nor casts its gloom upon our low estate ; — 
Its light hath flecks that seem so often great. 
Yet will the number grow in measure less 
As we our virtue into service press 
To cleanse the foul instincts commensurate 
With worldly hope that raiseth not a soul 
Above weak daily life. Who will not cast 
Their hopes away from the grave, thankless past 
Must brave the waves of Time that o'er them roll. 
Raise up thine eyes ! absorb the azure stream, 
That thine own soul with holiness may gleam. 



44 ^ THOUGHT IN A FIELD. 



A THOUGHT IN A FIELD. 

E'en in the fields, the murmur of the bees, 
The still, mysterious growth of tiny ferns, 
Are truths from which man daily, hourly learns : 
So, too, the song of birds in woodland trees 
And movements of the unseen perfumed breeze 
Are secrets. God is tireless, and oft doth steal 
By strangest paths into man's soul. I feel 
The great and wondrous power that foresees 
And yet doth trust the will of man to bow 

As mortal in obeisance to the Sov'reign mind ; 
The fairy, flitting flies that pass me now 

As through the daisy-laden field I wind, 
The twinkling stars of Heaven do emulate — 
Ah ! they know naught of God who know no fate. 



LIFE'S JEWELS. 

The sorrow of the soul is deeply set, 

Forgiving and forgetful ; but each tear 

Wears down the hardy rock beneath, — the mere 

Slow dripping of a sorrow seldom met 

With aught of kindness : without fret 

It sees the warmth decrease, and ev'ry frown 

Bestirs a sacred jewel from life's crown. 

Quick caught by Fate in her close-woven net. 



TO WORDSWORTH. 45 

Great souls like these are weak in worldly eyes, — 
And borne adown the stream as on it flows 
Into the sea of hardship and unease ; 
But such are souls that sinking soon do rise 
More purely cleansed of burdens and of woes — 
And One doth govern blessed souls like these. 

HARMONIOUS MUSIC. 

O THOU controller of the mysteries 

Of passions and of woe and joy and love 
That waft the soul on songs so far above 
The hum of life, and penetrate the skies 
And all the forms of thought our God denies 
To baser men, I know not how to praise 
The majesty of thy sustaining lays, 
For in my soul a peacefulness doth rise 
Obscuring sin from mine aspiring birth. 
So marshaled by thy rhythm do I rehearse 

The modes of life so long described of Heaven, 
Where faith and love do gain their mooted worth 
And 'scape the awfulness of thoughtless curse : 
Sweet food art thou, well blest by holy leaven. 

TO WORDSWORTH, 

AFTER READING HIS XXXTH ECCLESIASTICAL SONNET. 

" For what contend the wise ? " Ah ! thou didst find 
In freedom from coarse Sense true wisdom lies : 
'T is this, I ask : with what contend the wise ? 

For, granting thou didst ever see entwined 



46 WISDOM. 

About the holier records of the mind 

The tendrils of vain seeing, hearing, taste. 
And nerves and smell that have so oft misplaced 
The aim of truth, — as oft made justice blind, — 
I know that thou didst know strong friction harms 

Sweet aspiration. How many sins retard 
The course of beauty and the thousand charms 

That keep the wand'ring spirits of the bard 
In bondage mild, while many purer themes 
Do ripple through his brain like mountain streams ! 



WISDOM. 

Through wisdom and through knowledge men behold 

What sweet content have they in whom the truth 

Is all in all, nor scorn the arts of youth, 

Who in the cradle 'gins to be a scold, 

And yearns to cleanse the evils which enfold 

The charms of life that aged men despise 

And call such monstrous, e'en disastrous lies 

Wrought into being by the false and bold. 

But Wisdom, charming Folly's loving mate. 

Possessed of tranquil, ever-certain skill. 

Proves unto man how God on earth is great, 

As well as Heaven, where His so holy will 

Doth more increase the power of Wisdom's power 

Which unto man is given by Death as dower. 



A PITY 'TIS. 47 



HEREDITY. 

In birth is fate : thy father knows thine end 
Nor tells it thee : his soul is sealed, too, — 
His secret ne'er will pass from him to you. 
Ah ! great indeed is he who, born a friend 
To every noble truth, all truths shall mend 

Whose semblance of the truth have passed their 

prime — 
Their visages now scarred by active Time. 
In birth is fate ; obscurely do they send 
Thy mind and hope the spirit of true power 
Whose lives were fashioned in an earlier age 
Than thine, and blent their faith and will 
With men whose graves engulf them : 't is thy dower 
To read thy father's name on history's page, 
And feel within thee his great spirit still. 

A PITY 'TIS. 

A PITY 't is — and yet 't is not a pity 

Men come of clay, and to loose clay return. 
For some do seek immortal life and yearn 

For Heaven's meed. To some, life is a ditty 

Sung through each ghostly day in some vast city, 
And they would sing for aye their revels gay. 
Nor grant to Death the toll each one must pay. 

Immortal is the soul, — so scorn the pretty, 



48 DMMONIAC LOVE. 

Fantastic ways of life : thy place is 'mong the great, 
Whose peaceful souls and joys do overflow 

And bless all people with their sunlit cheer ; — 
No crumbling flesh disturbs immortal fate : 
The golden radiance from their lives doth flow 
And make of death a peerless, vaster sphere. 



DtEmoniac love. 

O, DEEP Daemoniac power ! thou bidst me sing 
To them who list, my songs of lowly worth. 
That I may crave some homage ; yet its dearth 

Could never bid me shun thee, nor could sting 

With poisoned dart the graceful fleeting wing 
Of lightsome fancy which my mind doth love — 
Wilt thou then ever bring me from above 

The leave to drink the liquor of thy spring ? 

I pray thee grant me meed that virtue hath : 
Its own reward for all I truly do 

As on I tread the lonely, shrouded path, — 
That I may gaze on Heaven's faultless blue — 

For thee my love will with itself condole, 

And quaff with joy the nectar of thy soul. 



IN MEMORIAM, 49 

IN MEMORIAM. 



Sweet April bade me greeting at my birth, 
But his made fair one red October morn 
Which lovers of warm June do feebly scorn, 

And crave the fragrance sweet of Springtime's worth. 

As those who seem inspired by treacherous mirth 
I can nor say nor dream of anything 
Lest this most treacherous month of budding Spring, 

Wherein the mortal Shakespeare left our earth, 

With oscillating spirit hovers o'er, 

And fills me with some calm or holy rage 
That reason's judgment cannot seem t' assuage. 

It probes my heart until my heart is sore : — 

In him whom Autumn claimed as her own child 

No passion rose, — in him all life was mild. 

II. 

How oft, when friends are lost, and new ones take 
Their place, and, looking back upon the past, 
I see my flight outrun the lost and last, 

There rises once again the swirling wake 

Through billows I ignored for his fond sake ; 
And wonder whence my flight shall take its way 
To live in heart of friend thro' ev'ry day 

Still given to me. How hearts so fond do quake ! 
4 



50 GALL AND HONEY. 

I know not whence the evil spirit came — 
I know not how it reft the trust and faith — 
My only mem'ry is a shallow wraith 

That unto me my loss doth oft proclaim. 

I shudder, stunned I know not whence nor why — 

For life turns vague through love's own falsity. 



GALL AND HONEY. 

O, WHY should I with tears in my young eyes — 
Not tears of woe, but tears of pain and blight 
That sorely blind me in my hope for light — 
O, why should I be brought to face the lies 
And shames of men, when holy liberties 
And joys of sacred truth and meditation 
Would lead me from the throes of consternation 
That drowns us in its vast perplexities ? 
O, why, O God, are we in kinship brought 
With all the base and bitter wrongs of life, 
When, separated from the sodden strife, 
Our lives would purer be, and purer, too, our thought? 
Yet o'er this strife Thou reignest still supreme, 
And I, in patience, practice o'er my dream. 



EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. 



EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. 



Shed all thy light about, forego all shame, — 
Would'st thou let grope in darksome, treach'rous ways 
Those poor to whom one truth would light their frame, 
And win for thee a rayless man's sweet praise ? 



" Teach me the way to live ! " he cried, 
For all his lines were drawn in crooked ways ; 

"Teach me thy way, O God ! " and died, — 
To Him who granted truth be all the praise. 



GAIN AND LOSS. 

No Brahmin but hath in him one great shrine 
Where sin and woe and shallow truths are purged 
From out the Self doth soulful Beauty shine, — 
Within the Self false Beauty is submerged. 
S3 



54 EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. 



CONFUCIUS AND OTHERS. 

Great Pagans cherish truths, nor yet condemn 
The works of Christ, for good are they in heart, 
And truth to them is life, a holy gem 
Well set and kept, nor sold in any mart. 



WESLEY AND OTHERS. 

Great Christians look without and breathe a prayer 
For all grim-stained and sin-enveloped lives. 
For having love they give it and declare 
Sweet peace on God's great holiness e'er thrives. 



HEINE. 



So much was given by thee thou wast bereft 
Of sweetest peace and joy devoid of pain ; 
And like the rose when naught but form is left 
Endured thy wan death o'er and o'er again. 

II. 

To fields so green and waving trees bedecked 
Thine arms were far outstretched as surly Death 
Didst shake thy life-worn carcass evil-wrecked : 
What bliss 'mongst them to breathe thy final breath ! 



EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. 55 



EMERSON. 

Interpreter of mighty truths to souls 
That open were to thee, thine own delight 
Was blent with faith that in all brains controls 
The magic that doth grant the blind their sight. 



NO UNION. 

True love and peace together '11 ne'er be tied, 
For love stirs up in wine the bitter dregs, — 
Which peace must drink, or drink will be denied j 
Still, peace bows down to Love, and humbly begs. 



CHANGE. 

On my fair maiden's breast I lay my head, 
But found it there a most intemp'rate bed, — 
For while she breathed, her love it seemed to cease 
Therewith did end my seeming endless peace. 



True manhood's noonday shadows hold 
The dews of boyhood's morning : 

In age those gentle shades become 
Night's ever faithful warning. 



$6 EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. 

O HAPPY maid who parts not love from laughter, 
Give o'er thy soul to joy ; 't is but a space 
Ere thou shalt know sweet peace doth follow after 
False Love hath dropped from out his wayward race. 



How blithe a maiden's spirit when all 's fair : 
Deep woe is gloom, nor blithesome can it be 
When all is woe endowed by weighty care : 
Fond maidens to be glad must through woe see. 



I KNOW not whence, nor whither, nor why 
The meteors flash in the midnight sky, 
Yet God hath in His manifold ways 
Bade me his wondrous powers to praise. 



Above this life God is not, but within 
And all around it ; reigning from above, 
He guides with never-ceasing, helpful love. 
Dispersing truth from falsehood, good from sin. 



Beside the paths of life old Time lies waiting 
Upon each mortal passing by debating, 
And conning o'er and o'er the span of years 
Ere night shall fall when twilight disappears. 



EPIGRAMS AND QUATRAINS. 57 

O LIGHT of thought ! O life of books ! 

O dreams of land and sea ! 
Whence come ye with thy joyful looks ? 

Whence go ye ? Ask Eternity. 



True grief alone hath power to 'suage its loss, 
And throw its heavy pall into the Past, 
Whereto all wo and pallor should be cast, 
Nor held to mar the beauty of the Cross. 



ADIEU. 



IN YOUTH. 

A singer's early rhymes are ne'er in time 

With strange pulse-beats of men ; 
To all the world he seems a pantomime 

Danced wildly o'er again. 

'T is strange ; aye, wondrous strange ! Bold, trenchant 
truths 

Do bubble from deep wells 
Wherein the depth is not perceived of youths — 

There Song so shyly dwells. 



In youth is caught but the murmur 
Of the sparkling, gurgling spring : 

Until the ear is familiar 

No youth great songs may sing. 

'T is long after youth man seeth 
How vain is all he hath heard : 

'T is only a gentle zephyr 

That hath his feelings stirred. 
6i 



62 IN YOUTH. 

Ah ! when the deep cup of passion 
Long quaffed is cast away, 

And thought in its holy suff'ring 
Hath lived from day to day, 

Then song shall find its true mission 
To wash my dreams from stain. 

And gladly to song I '11 turn me 
To sing to thee again. 



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